Creature Comforts

I’ve always preferred a bit of a scare. Put it down to the absence of a paternal ogre in my domestic setting or an overactive imagination constantly fed by a doting father with bedtime stories of pits and pendulums, my inclinations always leaned towards the macabre. The bogeyman wasn’t real – not on morning rides to school (with unfinished homework) and sun-drenched afternoons after dismissal – but he sure was, after lights out and sleep was not forthcoming. Frightened out of my wits, I would suppress the need to urinate until morning lest I bump into something that went bump in the night. Despite the probable damage to my kidneys, I enjoyed every moment of it, the flushing of the toilet with a whole night’s supply of piss, the sound of the curtain going down on the evening’s Grand Guignol-style entertainment.

Again, the lack of a monster in real life probably spurred my need to invent a few. (There was of course my grade school’s head teacher…) Of course, they were mostly modeled on someone else’s. Bram Stoker, Jim Fernandez and Mary Shelley all contributed in building the chimera in my head, creatures so infernal they looked like Max Laurel, talked with a funny accent and had sparkplugs at the sides of their neck. As you might’ve guessed this was no literary creation but one gleaned from Betamax copies of the film adaptations.

Before I matured in my viewing habits, eventually preferring the psychodramas of David Lynch or the sinister framing of Roman Polanski, I frequently indulged in lowbrow horror full of viscera and buckets of blood. (The two strains would be genetically fused in David Cronenberg’s laboratories and leave a trail of bloody footprints in the Overlook Hotel – I advise you to use the stairs.) From Roger Corman to Sam Raimi, I devoured everything, my craving for the nasty quite insatiable.

I am partial though to creatures. Although they seem quaint now the familiar mugs of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney Jr. and — Lucifer himself – Romy Diaz inspired terror and wrought havoc on the circadian rhythms of the naïve 8-year-old version of myself. Back then, I knew nothing about the artistry of makeup or prosthetics or how cinematography and musical setting can heighten mood: Dracula, the Wolfman and his ilk were just scary. (Of course, even in an artless piece of cinematic shit like a Ramon Revilla vehicle, Diaz only affects a red suit and a laugh to convince you he’s the devil.)

With films like The Passion of the Christ, Peter Pan and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, it seems the trend in Hollywood these days is to re-tell old stories, breathing CGI-life and post-modern hipness into aged mythologies. Horror is no exception: Just a decade ago, many a goth discovered Anne Rice (via the Neil Jordan-helmed Tom Cruise movie) and decided they wanted to be vampires (no accent, just cool wardrobe and dour expression).

One of the biggest blockbusters in recent years was an update of the classic The Mummy while recent vampire-werewolf flick Underworld did good business as well. Even Leatherface got a makeover in this year’s remake.

Before a collective groan comes up at the prospect of another Freddy Krueger sequel, one must be directed to the newest effort of writer/director Stephen Sommers. In Van Helsing, he puts forward the mad proposition to put three of celluloid’s most celebrated monsters into one movie. Responsible already for resurrecting the Mummy, Sommers ensures the thrill of a lifetime as he pits Stoker’s vampire hunter against creaturedom’s best. Of course, to ensure swoons in the audience, the title role is played by X-Man Hugh Jackman. And again, Kate Beckinsale trades in her period costume for a tight-fitting bodice (with an ample bosom to fill it, I must add) to play a mysterious love interest.

Now that’s all well and good but might I make a suggestion for the projected franchise?

A bald, green muscle man with two snakes perched on his shoulders?

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Visit the Urban Fiesta today, 5 p.m., and on May 1, 10 a.m., at the VLI Complex at The Fort. Check out the Ummagumma booth.

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The Gweilo’s Hour hosts would like to extend their apologies to Bels for coming in late and thus again thwarting both parties attempts to finally meet. Anyway, we will be on tonight 9 to 10 p.m. at NU 107.5. We would be more than happy to accommodate the offended party with open arms and good cheers all around. For your information though, Marius is the short, handsome chap while yours truly is the ugly, overweight and – as one Orange and Lemons groupie has commented – old bugger. We will also play music that seems to be quite unpopular on these shores except for the odd David Bowie number.

The Gweilo’s Hour is brought to you by San Miguel Beer and Frenzy condoms.

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Send comments and reactions to: erwin_romulo@hotmail.com